Legacy
by Sita Z
Summary: During an away mission, Reed was kidnapped and tortured. Back on Enterprise he has to deal with certain memories of his past brought back by the traumatic experience. Complete Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Legacy  
  
Author: Sita Z.  
  
Genre: Angst/ Drama  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: During an away mission, Reed was kidnapped and tortured. Back on Enterprise he has to deal with certain memories of his past brought back by the traumatic experience. Please read and review!!  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Enterprise, I'm not making any money from this.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
  
Reed slowly raised his head, looking his tormentor in the eyes. Blood trickled down from the gash on his forehead, running down his cheek. Some of the sticky liquid got into his eyes and and he blinked, his vision momentarily blurred. The man's face leaned closer to his.  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
  
Reed's mind was empty. He couldn't fathom the meaning of the words, only realized that it was a question. And an unanswered question meant pain. He opened his mouth, repeating the sentence he had screamed, moaned and whispered again and again the last few days.  
  
"I don't know."   
  
That was not what they wanted to hear, and he knew it. Unable to muster enough strength even to close his eyes, he just sat there, waiting for the blow. It never came. Instead the man simply repeated the question without laying hands on him, something he had never done before during their sessions.  
  
"Why are you doing this? We will kill you, and you know it. You will not be able to withstand us forever. The time will come when you will tell us what we need to know. So why do you insist on prolonging this unnecessarily?"  
  
The words were meaningless to him. His brain refused to make sense of what the man was saying; the only thing Reed registrated was that the voice talking to him had become less threatening. It sounded calm now, almost weary, and no one was hurting him. That was strange, and suspicion rose somewhere in his numb mind. He mustn't fall for their tricks, he had to stay awake and aware of what he was saying. And there was only one safe answer to their questions.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
This time the blow came before he had even finished the sentence and white-hot pain flared up in his face as he heard an ugly crunch. Something warm was tingling on his upper lip and in the next moment he tasted blood. The man grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him forward. Reed almost blacked out when his broken ribs sent up a blaze of pain. Through the spots dancing in front of his eyes he saw the man's face only inches apart from his, gray eyes staring into his own. As the man spoke, his voice was not more than a soft hiss.  
  
"You can make this stop, you know. It's up to you. Just say the word, and it will all be over. Do you wish to die?"  
  
"I don't know," he whispered, seeing the man's eyes narrowing to slits.  
  
"But I do. Just think about it. It would be over."  
  
Reed closed his eyes, trying to understand the meaning of the word. Over. They would leave him alone, they would finally go away, satisfied with what they heard, and he would be able to rest. The thought filled his mind, leaving no room for anything else, and suddenly he knew he couldn't take any more. He wanted the man with the quiet voice to be contented, finally, and more than anything else he wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. He was so tired.  
  
He heard his own voice, roughened by hours of screaming, say words he had no control of.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"You know what we want." Again the man spoke in a quiet, almost encouraging tone. "Tell me, and we're done. It's so easy."  
  
He knew what they wanted, of course he did. After hundreds of questions which had been repeated over and over for days at a time, he knew exactly what he had to say to make it stop. Reed opened his mouth and began to speak.  
  
###  
  
A few days later Captain Jonathan Archer entered sickbay, feeling relieved and worried at the same time as his eyes fell on the only bed occupied, the drawn curtains hiding it from view. Two hours ago the away team had returned from the planet, bringing Lieutenant Reed with them. The Armoury Officer was unconscious and in a bad shape, but he was alive. After six days of searching, scanning the planet over and over without finding a trace of human bio signs anywhere, Archer had begun to lose hope of ever seeing Malcolm Reed again. Reluctantly, he had already started thinking of contacting Starfleet Command and reporting the Armoury Officer missing and very likely dead, when T'Pol suddenly had picked up a human bio reading near one of the big cities. He'd sent down Trip and a Security team and they had found Malcolm Reed unconscious beside a road out in the country. There seemed to be not much life left in him when they took him to sick bay, but Dr.Phlox had assured them Reed's injuries, while quite serious, were not life-threatening. When Phlox had called a few minutes ago, telling him Reed was regaining consciousness, Archer had left the bridge and come down to sickbay immediately. Ever since Reed had suddenly disappeared a week ago during that wretched research mission, worry and guilt had been weighing down on him. Malcolm hadn't approved of the away mission from the start, trying to convince Archer that it was too much of a risk exploring those cities. They knew nothing about those people except that they hadn't yet developed warp technology and looked almost human, and Reed hadn't wanted anybody down on that planet without at least five days of further research and an armed Security team accompanying them. But Malcolm always argued over away missions and Archer, thinking it was just the Armoury Officer's paranoia striking again, had ordered him to give a phaser to every member of the away team and get going.  
  
It had been a mistake, and Archer knew it. Staring at the curtains of the bed he swallowed, afraid of what he was going to see when he pulled the fabric aside. Feeling a hand on his arm, he turned his head and saw Dr.Phlox standing beside him, his cheerful Denobulan smile a little subdued as he spoke.  
  
"I'm glad you came, Captain. I think it will help Lieutenant Reed if he sees your face when he wakes up."  
  
Archer bit his lip. "How is he?"  
  
Phlox hesitated a moment before he answered. "His injuries will heal. No permanent damage has been done; not on the outside, that is." He looked up and Archer saw grief and anger in his eyes as he continued. "Captain, Lieutenant Reed has been tortured."  
  
Archer felt his throat constrict. "How-how do you know?"  
  
Phlox averted his eyes for a moment. "It's obvious from the pattern of his injuries. Most of his ribs were broken, as well as his nose and three fingers. There was a severe bleeding in the right kidney, probably due to the beating he received. On his chest I found several burn marks, probably caused by hot metal or something similar."  
  
Archer felt sick. The mere thought of someone doing such things to another person was appalling. Hot anger took hold of him as he thought of Malcolm suffering like this, and he had to fight to keep his voice steady as he spoke.  
  
"Can I see him now?"  
  
Phlox pulled aside the thin fabric, and Archer stepped closer, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes fell on Reed. Malcolm's face was pale, almost white, and there was a nasty-looking bruise on his left cheekbone. The nose had been splinted, but Archer could still see bits of clotted blood on his nostrils. On his forehead was a deep cut, glistening wet with the antiseptic gel the doctor had applied. His ribs were bandaged as well, but his chest was exposed enough for Archer to see the blistered red burns there. A blanket was drawn over most of his body, and there was a tube attached to his right arm. Phlox checked the screen over the bed, then turned to look at Archer.  
  
"His condition is stabilizing. I'm going to wake him up now, but it is essential not to upset him right now. Don't try to make him talk about what happened, unless he wants to. Try to calm him, tell him he's going to be all right."  
  
While Archer ususally didn't like being patronized by the doctor, he knew Phlox was right. He nodded silently, and Phlox bent down to press a hypospray against Reeds neck. Malcolm stirred, turning his head from side to side as if to pull away from the touch, and then slowly, painfully opened his eyes. For a second he didn't seem able to focus, his swollen eyelids refusing to give way. Then his eyes fell on Archer and Phlox standing beside the bed, and he startled.  
  
"Captain..." His voice sounded hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Archer stepped closer, carefully reaching out to touch one of Reeds hands. He felt Malcolm tense at the contact, but didn't pull away.   
  
"Yes, I'm here," he said, keeping his voice as calm as possible. "We're so glad to have you back, Lieutenant."  
  
Reed seemed to relax a bit, but as he spoke again, his voice was scratchy and the words were halted, pained.  
  
"I was... they were taking me back... I blacked out. I don't remember..."  
  
Archer tightened his grip on Reeds hand. "It's ok. You're safe now. Doc says you'll have to stay here for a while, but you're going to be ok. Don't worry."  
  
Reed shook his head, clearly upset now. "No... it's not ok... you must... contact Command. Immediately."  
  
Archer exchanged a worried look with Phlox. "Is he still hallucinating? The sedatives, maybe?"  
  
Phlox shook his head. "I gave him some painkillers, but they shouldn't have that effect." He bent down to Reed. "Just try to relax, Lieutenant. Everything's all right."  
  
"No!" There was a definite edge of panic to his voice. "It's not... the... information..."  
  
Trying to speak in a soothing tone of voice, Archer interrupted him.  
  
"What information are you talking about, Malcolm?"  
  
Reed swallowed convulsively. "Information about weapons... the information I gave them."  
  
The last words were almost inaudible, and Malcolm, not able to continue, closed his eyes. Archer shook his head, beginning to understand what Reed was trying to tell him. They had questioned him about weapons, and he had - or believed he had - given them restricted information. The Captain saw Phlox preparing another hypo, and held up his hand to stop the doctor from putting Reed to sleep just now.  
  
"Malcolm."  
  
The Armoury Officer looked at him, and Archer saw shame and guilt in his eyes. Never letting go of Reed's hand, he continued, hoping his voice sounded firm enough for Malcolm to believe the truth of his words.  
  
"Whatever you told them, it doesn't matter. You survived, that's the only thing that matters right now. All you need to do now is rest, and stop worrying, ok?"  
  
Reed turned his head away. "No. You don't understand. It was... essential information I gave them. They know about our weapons, they know how to..." He coughed dryly, and his voice became even hoarser as he continued. "I... failed."  
  
Archer opened his mouth to reply, but Phlox put a hand on his arm. He shook his head slightly, and Archer reluctantly complied, knowing that arguing would only upset Reed further. He said nothing, moving aside so Phlox could administer the hypospray. Reeds eyes closed, and a moment later he was asleep, but even then a slight frown remained on his face. Phlox cast a worried look at the screen over the bed.  
  
"This will last for a few hours. But I can't keep giving him tranquilizers, his body is still too weak for that. He needs to relax on his own."  
  
Archer looked down at Malcolm's pale face. "He said he failed. I wonder what he meant by that."  
  
There was a moments silence before Phlox answered. "Captain, it seems Lieutenant Reed wasn't tortured only once, but several times during the last six days. It is... very possible that they managed to break him; nobody can withstand this kind of thing forever. As he said, in the end he probably told them everything they wanted to know. And just as well, because he wouldn't have survived much longer if he hadn't."  
  
Of course, Archer thought, Malcolm would expect himself to hold out until the very end, rather dying than giving them any information. He would never accept the fact that even he had a breaking point, that at some point sheer willpower wasn't enough anymore to stop himself from answering their questions. Malcolm Reed had never accepted the fact that even he was only human, after all.  
  
Sighing, Archer got up. He had to go back to the bridge, tell the others Malcolm would make it. Trip had been badly shaken when he had returned with the shuttle, and Archer had seen the anxious worry on the engineer's face when they had taken Reed away to sickbay. He looked at Phlox, who was busy applying some more gel to the burns on the Armoury Officer's chest.  
  
"Please notify me if there's any change, Doc."  
  
Phlox nodded, closing the box containing the gel. "I will, Captain."  
  
Archer turned, heading for the door. Guilt was still weighing down on him, maybe even harder than before. As he made his way to the bridge, he thought of the look on Malcolm's face as he had told him that he'd failed. There had been utter despair in his eyes, and Archer couldn't think of a way to make him understand nobody blamed him for what had happened. He had never known anyone who was as unforgiving about his own failures and shortcomings as Lieutenant Reed. Archer knew the Armoury Officer would never forgive himself for saving his own life and sanity, for giving in to his survival instinct rather than letting himself get killed in the line of duty. 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Legacy  
  
Author: Sita Z.  
  
Genre: Angst/ Drama  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: During an away mission, Reed was kidnapped and tortured. Back on Enterprise he has to deal with certain memories of his past brought back by the traumatic experience. Please read and review!!  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Enterprise, I'm not making any money from this.  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The days went by in a haze. Before he'd been released from sickbay, Reed had promised to rest and stay in bed most of the time, but he found it unbearable to lie on his bunk, staring at the bare walls of his quarters with nothing to distract him but his thoughts. So he walked, ignoring the pain in his bandaged ribs, wandering aimlessly through Enterprise's deserted hallways while the others were on duty, carefully avoiding everyone who could try to send him back to his quarters. Every day after their shift, the Captain, Trip, Hoshi, Travis and sometimes even T'Pol came by to look after him. They tried to act cheerful, telling him about the day's events, sharing the latest gossip and Hoshi made a point of bringing him something to eat every time she stopped by his quarters. Reed listened politely when they talked, nodding, saying "yes" and "no", answering "fine" when they asked how he felt, but it was an act and he knew that they saw it, too. In truth he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing, like someone had just wiped away every feeling he'd ever had, leaving nothing but a numb emptiness in his mind. He didn't even remember how it felt to be happy, or sad, or afraid. He just did the things he'd always done, without thinking about it, just waiting for another day to pass. The only thing he couldn't bring himself to do was eat. Everytime he put something in his mouth he felt like he was going to be sick. Of course it didn't go unnoticed that he'd lost some weight, and Archer threatened to send him back to sickbay if he didn't eat enough. But Reed didn't really care about it, the way he'd used too, in the past. He faintly remembered that there had been a time when he had hated being sent to sickbay, but that was over. He didn't really care about anything anymore.   
  
One evening, five days after Phlox had released him, the door to his quarters opened. Reed looked up and saw Trip standing in the doorway.   
  
"Commander," he said, motioning him to a chair, preparing for another hour of listening to the latest gossip in Engineering. But Trip didn't follow his invitation to take place. He just stayed where he was, looking at him with an unusually serious expression on his face. Reed wondered what he was up to now.  
  
"Stop it."   
  
Reed stared at him, not knowing what the man was talking about. This was very unusual behaviour for Trip.  
  
"Stop what, Commander?" he asked carefully. Trip took a few steps towards him, coming to stand right in front of him, his arms crossed in front of his chest.  
  
"Stop doing this to yourself. You're not eatin', you're not restin', you're not talkin' to anyone. All we ever hear from you is that you're fine. But even T'Pol can tell you're not. You've lost at least six pounds the last few days, and you look like death warmed over. Won't you tell me what's wrong, Malcolm?"  
  
Reed froze. He'd seen this coming and had dreaded the moment when they would try to make him talk. He had nothing to say. Shaking his head, he tried to keep his voice as level as possible when he answered.  
  
"I don't know what you mean, Sir."  
  
Without warning Trip let himself plop down on the bed beside Reed. "Don't give me that, Malcolm! And don't call me ‚Sir', or I'll have you thrown in the brig. You know exactly what I mean. You need to talk about it, and the sooner, the better."  
  
For the first time in days something like anger rose in Reed. He had enough of people telling him what was good for him, acting as if they knew exactly what he needed, as if he was just being stubborn refusing their well-meant offers.  
  
"There's nothing I want to talk about." He got up.  
  
"Malcolm." Trip's voice sounded kind and patient, just the thing to make Reed furious.   
  
"What?!"  
  
He all but shouted at Trip. It was a relief being able to feel again, and his anger grew as he turned to face Tucker, who was just sitting there looking at him with no particular expression on his face. Why were they all being so damn patronizing, why couldn't they just leave him alone?  
  
"What do you want? I told you there's nothing I want to talk about! Stop sitting there being so bloody understanding, I don't care a shit what you think! Just leave me alone!"  
  
He noticed he was shaking, which made him even more angry.   
  
"Don't you hear me? Get out!"  
  
"No." Trip sat there on his bed, his arms crossed in front of his chest, a stubborn look in his eyes Reed knew only too well. Trip wasn't going to leave until he got what he wanted.  
  
"You talk to me, then you can kick me out. But not before you told me about it."  
  
Reed sat down at his desk, gripping the arms of the chair to stop his hands from trembling. He considered leaving himself, but he knew just as well Tucker would follow him, maybe dragging him back into his quarters, maybe cornering him somewhere else. In any case he was trapped.  
  
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" he asked, knowing only too well it was no use arguing. Trip refused to acknowledge his anger, and Reed suspected the engineer would actually sit there all night, no matter what insults he threw at him. That was Tucker's idea of being a friend, after all.   
  
"Look, Trip," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but did it ever occur to you that there might not be any use in talking about it? You all know what happened. And yes, it was bad. But I just don't want to talk about it, ok?"  
  
It was no use. And somehow, although he was still angry at Trip for being so obtrusive, Reed resigned to the fact that he would have to talk about what had happened, after all. He had known all along that the time would come when simply trying to forget it wouldn't work anymore. He had pushed that thought out of his mind, though, gladly succumbing to the numbness which allowed him to simply survive another day without having to deal with any of it. Sighing, he buried his face in is hands. He was so tired of this. Trip seemed to know what he was thinking.   
  
"That's right, you won't get rid of me. My shift's over, I have all the time in the world. I'll stay here until you talk to me."  
  
Reed shook his head. His ribs ached from shouting. More than anything else he wanted to lie down and close his eyes, go to sleep and forget about all of this, but of course there was Trip sitting on his bed.Wearily he raised his eyes and looked at Tucker, who met his eyes evenly.  
  
"It's not a very interesting story, you know."  
  
Trip didn't answer, just looked at him and waited for him to continue. Reed swallowed. Maybe it was best to get over with it, so Trip would leave and he would finally be able to go to bed. He was so very tired. The anger he'd felt had loosened something in him and it was difficult to keep his voice steady as he spoke.  
  
"They... they found out who I was. After doing some scans they knew about the ship, too. Of course they were interested in the weapon technology..."  
  
He remembered the first time they'd brought him into that brightly lit room he kept seeing in his nightmares. His interviewer, a tall man with gray hair and eyes, had never once raised his voice as he kept asking questions, and his face had never changed, no matter how loud Malcolm had been screaming. To him and his men, it had only been a part of their job, and they'd done what they had to do, without deriving any particular pervert satisfaction from their actions. He had been nothing to them. The only time one of them had ever shown some kind of interest in him as a person with thoughts and feelings had been during that last session, and Malcolm knew now that it had only been another trick to make him talk. The trick had worked. He had been able to withstand everything they did to him so far, screaming until he thought his lungs would burst, blacking out only to be awakened by hard slaps and cold water splashed into his face, but he hadn't given in, then. It didn't matter, though. All his pain and agony had been for nothing, since in the end he had fallen for a simple trick, actually believing there was somebody who cared whether he lived or died.  
  
"I told them," he whispered, staring down at his hands. "Everything they wanted to know. Six days... it was six days. And in the end I just told them, only because this guy... he said..."  
  
Trip's voice sounded very quiet. "What did he say?"  
  
"He... he said it was up to me. I had the choice. But it wasn't..."  
  
He broke off, ashamed to tell anyone what it really had been about. It wasn't what the man had said. It was the fact that there had been actually somebody asking him what he *wanted*, acknowledging him as another being, a person, which had finally broken him. The thought was unbearable and he felt disgusted with himself. All his life Malcolm had tried to see things from a rational, distanced point of view, not allowing his feelings to cloud his judgement. It was dangerous to get emotionally involved, in profession as well as in relationships. If you started relying on other people too much, you became dependent, vulnerable. Malcolm had never doubted this was true, at least for him. That was how he lived his life. When others laughed, he only smiled. When others had fun, letting themselves go, he contented himself with watching, refusing to draw attention to himself. He had never really had a friend he could share his thoughts with, and hadn't thought he would ever need one. Only when he came aboard Enterprise he found, to his surprise, that people here just ignored his reluctance to get close to anyone, and decided to be his friends whether he wanted it or not. Still, Malcolm had tried to keep his distance, making sure he didn't open up too much. It was his job to protect these people, and he could only do so if he was strong, not depending on feelings which might prove fatal when it came to making a difficult decision in the line of duty.   
  
Now, however, his feelings had betrayed him, in a way he had never even thought possible. He had failed, absolutely, totally failed. Again.  
  
"I was such a fool," he said, more to himself than to anybody else. There was a moment's silence, then he heard Trip's voice, still sounding unusually subdued.  
  
"Why do you think you were a fool?"  
  
Reed looked up at him, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he answered.  
  
"Ever noticed how people keep making the same mistakes all their lives? You make a mistake as a kid, and years later, as an adult, when you've long forgotten about it, you do the same stupid thing again, not matter how much you think you've changed in the meantime."  
  
Trip frowned. "What kind of mistake are you talkin' about, Malcolm?"  
  
Reed looked away, staring down at his hands, remembering a rainy November afternoon more than twenty years ago.  
  
###  
  
The class filed out of the gym, laughing, shouting, jostling each other. As always, ten year old Malcolm was the last one in line, slowly shuffling towards the door, staying a few steps behind the others. If he took long enough, maybe the changing room would already be empty when he got there. Dragging his gym bag along behind him, he watched the last of the boys disappear through the big double door of the gym. Ten minutes, maybe, then only one or two would still be in the changing room, and they would be too busy packing away their gym clothes to take notice of him.  
  
Malcolm dropped his bag not entirely by accident and bent down, acting as if he were tying his shoelaces. If he waited outside in the hallway for another five minutes or so, maybe they'd all be gone when he entered the changing room. He knew someday someone would notice him taking deliberately long after gym class, and they would tease him about it, but that was better than the stares and whispered comments behind his back when he changed together with the other boys.  
  
"Just look at that!"  
  
"Awful, isn't it?"  
  
"Do you believe he actually..."  
  
"I told my mom about it and she said better not ask him, it would only make it worse for him."  
  
"Well, I asked him once and he said he just fell down the stairs. He's lying, of course."  
  
"Remember the day he had a black eye and Mrs.Phillips asked him about it, and he said he run into a door? I think she didn't believe him either."   
  
"Last week his back was all black and blue again..."  
  
"I think I'd run away if I was him."  
  
The remarks stung and Malcolm felt ashamed, although he always acted as if he hadn't heard them. It was nothing new to him. The other kids had always talked about him behind his back, and some didn't even bother to keep their voices down when he passed. It wasn't only the fact that he often had strange bruises and never explained how he got them. Everyone knew, of course. Malcolm Reed was just different.He was never allowed to go on class trips (a waste of time and money, his father said) and nobody ever invited him to birthday parties or even asked him to come over and play. Even if they had, he wouldn't have been allowed to go. Nobody wanted to be seen with that strange kid (and maybe get teased as well), so Malcolm had no friends at all. There was nothing he could do about it, though, and so most of the time he tried not to think about it. He kept to himself, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, hoping the others would just leave him alone.   
  
Malcolm finished tying his shoelaces for the third time and got up. The changing room should be empty by now, he thought. He'd just reached the door when he heard a voice behind him.   
  
"Malcolm!"  
  
He turned around and saw Mr.Jordan, the PE teacher, striding towards him. Jordan was of athletic build and quite tall, and most of the boys were a little afraid of him. Malcolm liked him, though. Jordan was very strict, but fair, and he treated all students equally, whether they did well in his class or not. When he came to stand in front of him, Malcolm felt a little uncomfortable, though. Mr.Jordan had never spoken to him out of class before, and he only asked students to stay after the lesson if he needed to "have a little talk with them", as he put it. Malcolm couldn't imagine what Jordan would want from him, since as far as he remembered he hadn't done anything wrong.   
  
"Yes, Sir?"   
  
Jordan, noting his nervousness, smiled down at him. "Everything's all right, Malcolm. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."  
  
Malcolm frowned, still feeling quite apprehensive. What did Jordan want to talk to him about? Still smiling, Jordan motioned towards the door of his office on the other end of the gym.  
  
"Maybe we can sit down while we talk, that'll be more comfortable than standing out here."  
  
Puzzled, Malcolm followed him through the room. It was very unusual for Jordan to be that friendly, and he'd never seen him ask anyone into his office before. Jordan opened the door and Malcolm stepped inside, taking a quick look around. Crammed into one corner stood a desk and a chair, occupying almost half of the room. Right in front of the window there was another chair with clothes piled on it, and in another corner stood a small locker. Jordan picked up the clothes from the chair.  
  
"Please, sit down."  
  
Malcolm obeyed, watching Jordan as he opened the door of the locker and put away the clothes. He couldn't imagine what all this was about. Jordan closed the door again, then walked over to his desk. Sitting down in his chair he smiled at Malcolm.  
  
"Would you like something to drink? Lemonade, maybe? I'll have some too. I'm always parched after class."  
  
Bewildered, Malcolm only nodded and watched Jordan take a bottle with lemonade and two glasses down from a shelf above his head. He filled both glasses and pushed one of it towards Malcolm.  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"Er... thank you." Carefully, Malcolm took a sip from his drink and saw Jordan doing the same.  
  
"That feels good. By the way..." Jordan put his glass down on the table. "I think you're getting to be quite good at handball. You're really fast. You like the game?"  
  
Malcolm nodded. "Yes, Sir." Did Jordan ask him to stay only to talk about handball?   
  
"Good for you. Maybe you can play in the school team one day, if you keep practising."  
  
Malcolm knew his father would never allow him to join any kind of team, but he just said: "I would like that, Sir."  
  
Jordan smiled at him. A moment's silence followed, and Jordan looked down at his glass, seemingly lost in thought. After a while he raised his eyes again.  
  
"Malcolm, is there something you'd like to talk about?"  
  
Malcolm stared at him. "What... what do you mean, Sir?"  
  
Jordan's voice sounded very quiet as he spoke. "You know, sometimes people think there's no way out and there's nobody who'd listen to them, but... even if it's hard, it's always better to tell somebody." There was a short pause. "It's never too late to seek help, you know."  
  
Gripping the arms of his chair, Malcolm fought the urge to get up and run out of the office then and there. He knew what Jordan was talking about, of course, and his stomach twisted in terror at the idea of anyone trying to "help" him. Clearing his throat, he tried to sound as if he didn't really understand what Jordan meant.  
  
"There's nothing I want to talk about, Sir."  
  
Jordan looked at him and Malcolm forced himself to meet his eyes.   
  
"You can trust me, you know. I don't want to... get you in trouble. But I think you need help, after all."  
  
Fervently, Malcolm shook his head. "No! I mean, no, Sir, I really don't need help. There's... there's nothing wrong."  
  
"I don't think so, Malcolm." Jordan looked him straight in the eyes. "It's not ok for parents to beat their children; in fact it's against the law. You can get arrested for that kind of thing."  
  
He paused. "Did you ever talk to anyone about it?"  
  
Malcolm's mind raced. He had to get out of here. "Sir, I told you there's nothing wrong. Can I go now, please?"  
  
Jordan shook his head. "I'm sorry, Malcolm, but I feel something needs to be done, and soon. I'm going to contact your parents."  
  
"No!" Malcolm all but shouted. Jordan couldn't do this, he just couldn't. "Please, Sir, don't do that! It would be no use, and he would... Please, you don't have to call them!"  
  
Jordan looked up sharply at that, and Malcolm immediately knew he'd made a mistake.  
  
"What would he do?"   
  
Malcolm stared down at his hands, desperately wishing he had kept his mouth shut.  
  
"Would he beat you again?"   
  
Closing his eyes, Malcolm nodded. It was no use denying the obvious anymore, but maybe if he told Jordan the truth, he could make him see how useless it was to try to talk to his father.   
  
There was a moments silence before Jordan spoke again.  
  
"I understand that you are afraid, Malcolm. But we can't just leave it at that. Maybe you'd like to talk to somebody else, as well? Do you have any relatives, an aunt or uncle I could call?"  
  
Malcolm shook his head. He didn't really know any of his aunts or uncles, had met them maybe once or twice at some rare family gathering and the idea of his PE teacher calling them to talk about the way Stuart Reed raised his children was absurd.  
  
"Malcolm." He looked up, afraid too see the pity on Jordan's face as he met his eyes. He didn't want people to feel sorry for him; he just wanted them to leave him alone. Jordan, however, had no intention of doing so, and his voice betrayed no pity, sounding firm and determined as he spoke. "I realize this must be a hard decision for you to make.But I think you know things can't go on like this.I've been thinking about talking to your parents for weeks now, I just wanted to talk to you first. I want to help you put a stop to this. Will you trust me?"  
  
Malcolm was stunned. It was the first time an adult - or anyone, for that matter - talked to him like that. Jordan actually wanted his approval; he asked him to trust him instead of giving orders or threatening him. Malcolm didn't know what to say.   
  
"I... I don't think he will listen to you, Sir..."  
  
"Will you let me try?"  
  
It was his decision. Malcolm looked up at Jordan and realized that he wanted to trust this man. He had long ago given up to trust anyone, but this was different. Somebody was actually going to all this trouble just because of him, and he sensed that Jordan really wanted to help him. Somebody cared about how he felt. It was a new experience to him, and without even realizing it he nodded slowly, giving his consent to whatever Jordan was going to do. The teacher smiled at him.   
  
"Good. It takes a lot of courage to make that decision, Malcolm. I promise I'll find a way to do something about this, and soon."  
  
###  
  
Malcolm sat on his bed in the room he shared with his little sister Madeline, watching her concentrated face as she bent down over her books. He had tried to do his homework too but had given up half an hour ago, realizing that he wasn't able to concentrate right now.  
  
He still couldn't believe what had happened a few hours ago. When he had left Jordan's office, he had felt kind of numb, his mind empty of all thoughts, and the feeling still hadn't worn off.  
  
He had done something incredibly stupid and knew the consequences would be terrible, but still there was the feeling that he had done the right thing. It gave him strength to know that he had somewhere to turn to and wasn't completely alone, after all. That was a new experience, as well. His father always said the family was nobody else's business and he didn't want any strangers interfering with what he did in his own house. That was one of the reasons why he never allowed Malcolm and Madeline to have friends coming over or go to a friend's house after school. He said it would only give them silly ideas and they should rather spent their time studying. Malcolm rarely ever talked to anyone outside the family and since the Reeds didn't have much to say to each other, he rarely ever talked to anyone at all. There was Madeline, of course, but she was a very quiet person. She seemed to think that if she didn't say anything, people would eventually forget that she was there and leave her alone. It worked, too. Sometimes Malcolm had the impression that he was the only person living in this room, because Madeline hardly ever spoke at all. Even in her sleep she never made a sound. Malcolm had gotten used to the silence long ago, but right now he wished she would look up from her homework just once. He wanted to tell her what had happened, but he couldn't think of how to start the conversation. It wasn't something they usually did. Madeline turned over the page she had been reading, sucking at her pen as she always did when she concentrated on something. Malcolm had already opened his mouth to say something when suddenly Madeline raised her eyes, looked at him and frowned. A moment later he realized why; somebody had rung the doorbell downstairs. He couldn't imagine who would come to see them that late. His father didn't allow any visitors in the house, and Mrs.Harris next door who sometimes came over to have a little chat with his mother knew it was better not to show up when Stuart Reed was at home.  
  
Noticing Madeline raising her eyebrows at him, Malcolm shrugged. He heard the door being opened downstairs and his mother's muffled voice, sounding faintly surprised as she spoke.  
  
"Can I do something for you, Sir?"  
  
"Good evening, ma'am." The voice who had spoken was deep and firm and Malcolm recognized it immediately. He sat frozen with shock as the man continued.   
  
"My name is Ben Jordan, I'm Malcolm's PE teacher. Can I come in for a moment?"  
  
There were steps in the hallway and in the next moment Malcolm heard his father's voice.  
  
"Is there a problem, Linda?"   
  
Before his mother could answer, Jordan spoke again. "Good evening, Sir. I'm Ben Jordan, one of Malcolm's teachers at school."  
  
"Is there something wrong?"  
  
Go away, Malcolm pleaded silently, just go, don't say anything, just turn around and go away...  
  
"May I come in for a moment?"  
  
A short silence followed and in his mind's eye Malcolm could see his father looking Jordan up and down suspiciously. Stuart Reed hated having strangers in the house. As he spoke again, his voice sounded gruff.  
  
"By all means." The sound of the door being closed followed and Malcolm heard his father's voice in the hallway. "Did the boy get into trouble at school?"   
  
"No, Malcolm didn't make any trouble. Still, there's something I need to talk to you about."  
  
Malcolm heard them move into the living room, closing the door behind them. The voices were too muffled for him too understand what they were saying, but in fact he didn't really want to know. He sat paralyzed, his mind racing. He had never thought Jordan would do this, actually coming to his house to talk to his father face to face. Turning his head, he saw Madeline staring at him, her eyes wide and frightened.   
  
"What's this about, Malcolm?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. He shook his head, unable to explain. The knot of terror in his stomach tightened and suddenly he knew he had to find out what was going on down there. As he had reached the door, he heard Madeline's terrified voice behind him. "Where are you going?"  
  
He didn't answer, quietly making his way down the stairs. His legs felt shaky, but he kept going, his heart pounding in his ears. The voices from the living room grew louder and as he had reached the door he could hear his father speaking in an irritated tone.  
  
"... anyway, I don't think this is any of your business, Sir."  
  
"Yes it is." Jordan's voice was calm, but there was a dangerous undertone to it as he continued. "One of my students is being mistreated, and I won't close my eyes and act like everything's all right."  
  
"Mistreated!" Stuart Reed gave a harsh laugh. "That's ridiculous. I admit I don't raise my children the way it is fashionable nowadays, pampering them, allowing them to get away with every nonsense they come up with. Mistreated! My father was a strict man, too, but no one would have ever accused him of mistreating me. It did me a world of good, learning the importance of discipline. That's what children need."  
  
"You can't teach children discipline by beating them. The only thing they'll learn is that violence is a good way to threaten other people into doing what you want them to do." Jordan sounded heated now. "My God, man, your son never changes together with the other boys because he doesn't want them to see his bruises! He had two black eyes in the last four weeks, and when we asked him about it he said he run into a door. Don't you see what you're doing to him?"  
  
"He is my son, and I have the right to raise him the way I think best!" Stuart Reed was shouting now. "I won't raise one of those spoiled brats you see on the streets every day! And I don't need anybody telling me what to do in my own house! You have no right to - "  
  
"*You* have no right to abuse a child! I would have reported you to the police straight away, but for Malcolm's sake I thought it might be better to try and talk to you first, so - "  
  
"Enough." Reed's voice was quiet and dangerous. "How dare you speak to me like that! Who do you think you are, threatening me with the police. Now get out of my house."  
  
"You won't get rid of me that easily, Mr.Reed. I see it's no use talking to you, but I'll - "  
  
"I said get out." His voice was still very quiet but shaking with barely controlled fury. Malcolm's stomach clenched. He knew that voice.  
  
The door of the living room was pushed open, almost hitting him in the face. Startled he took a step backwards and saw Jordan coming out, his face red, the muscles in his jaw working. He never noticed Malcolm who stood half-concealed behind the door, and headed straight for the front door. Without looking back he left, slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
Silence fell, pounding in Malcolm's ears as he stood paralyzed, staring at the closed door. His brain told him to run after Jordan, to get away from here as quickly as possible, but somehow his feet wouldn't move.   
  
"What did you tell him?"  
  
He turned and saw his father standing in the living room door. His face was expressionless, but there was an insane glitter in his eyes as he came closer. Malcolm instinctively backed away, trying to get out of his father's reach, but Stuart Reed was already there, grabbing his son's hair and yanking his head back as he repeated the question.  
  
"You bloody little bastard, what did you tell him?"  
  
Malcolm struggled, trying to pull away. "Nothing, Sir. I didn't tell anyone - "  
  
"Don't you lie to me, boy!"  
  
His father shook him hard and Malcolm felt as if his scalp was being ripped off his head. Tears of pain welled up in his eyes, but he held them back, knowing it would only fuel his father's rage to see him cry like a coward.  
  
"Please, Sir, I didn't say anything!"   
  
Stuart Reed raised his hand and Malcolm flung up his arms, trying to protect himself, but suddenly there was his mother, trying to step between them, tears shimmering in her eyes as she pleaded with his father.  
  
"Stuart don't do this, it's not his fault! Please, don't - "  
  
"This is no business of yours, Linda! Get out of the way!"  
  
She wouldn't budge and his father's eyes narrowed to slits.  
  
"I said get out of the way!"  
  
"Stuart, please - "  
  
He pushed her hard and she almost fell, stumbling against a chair. Without looking at her, Reed grabbed Malcolm's arm and dragged him into the living room, slamming the door shut behind them.   
  
"You dirty little coward!" His father hit him hard across the face, the force of the blow sending him sprawling on the floor. Malcolm tasted blood, and pain exploded in his side as a boot connected with his ribs. He tried to get up, but then he felt a hand grabbing his hair again, and in the next moment he was yanked to his feet. His father's face was now only inches from his and Malcolm stared into grey eyes just like his own, only that those eyes were cold and full of hate.   
  
"Now listen to me boy." Again that quiet, dangerous voice. "And don't forget what I tell you now, because I won't repeat myself. If you ever do this again, I'll make you wish you'd never been born, and I mean it. You understand what I'm saying?"  
  
Malcolm nodded, his throat so dry he couldn't make a sound, let alone speak. His ribs hurt terribly and the pain doubled when his father grabbed him by the arms, shaking him again.  
  
"I said do you understand what I'm saying?"  
  
Swallowing convulsively, Malcolm tried to clear his throat. "Yes, Sir," he managed, his voice sounding hoarse. Don't cry, he thought desperately, don't cry, you'll only make it worse...  
  
"Running to your teacher to complain... I always knew you were a damn coward. Since the day you were born I tried to make a Reed out of you, but it was a waste of time. What you did today is just another proof that you're weak. A damn loser. My own son, for God's sake!"  
  
He pushed him away, backhanding him across the face again. Malcolm felt his lip split, and saw blood dripping onto the carpet.  
  
"I told you before but apparently I didn't get through to you: A Reed does not ask for help. Don't talk to anyone, and don't answer any questions. It's none of their business and no one cares about what you've got to say anyway. You're nothing, do you understand? Nothing. And you won't bring shame over this family again, or I'll make you regret it, I swear. Remember: The worst thing you can do is being weak."  
  
As if to emphasize his words, his father hit him in the face again, and Malcolm stumbled, his vision momentarily blurred. Tears burned in his eyes as he looked up again and saw his father holding something in his hand.  
  
"I swear, this time you won't forget what I said..."  
  
He kicked him again and this time Malcolm didn't try to get up. He closed his eyes tightly, bracing himself against the first blow. One day, he swore to himself as he felt a sharp stab of pain on his back, one day I am going to kill this man. 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Legacy  
  
Author: Sita Z.  
  
Genre: Angst/ Drama  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: During an away mission, Reed was kidnapped and tortured. Back on Enterprise he has to deal with certain memories of his past brought back by the traumatic experience. Please read and review!!  
  
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Enterprise, I'm not making any money from this.  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Trip stared at the Armoury Officer. Reed looked away, seemingly embarassed at Tucker's shocked expression. Trip didn't know what to say. The things Reed had related to him in that quiet unemotional voice of his shook him to the core. Ever since the time they had contacted Malcolm's parents to find out about his favourite food for a birthday surprise Trip had suspected that Reed's childhood had been less than idyllic, but he had never thought it had been like this. His own family had never had much money, and Trip hadn't been raised to expect the world being handed to him on a silver plate, but still, his parents had supported him as much as they could. Their love and caring was something he had always relied on, and he hadn't thought much about it, either. It was just like having enough to eat, or a place to sleep - simply a part of normal, everyday life.   
  
It came to him as a shock to find out that someone he knew, one of his best friends, actually, had grown up without it. The things Malcolm had told him made him feel sick. As a child no one had ever raised a hand against him, and the idea of his own father abusing him like that was simply absurd.   
  
He looked at Malcolm who was staring down at his hands, avoiding to meet his eyes. The silence stretched between them, and Trip cleared his throat, determined to find the right words.  
  
"Did you... did you ever try to talk to anyone again?"  
  
Malcolm shook his head. "Would have been no use, either. He would have covered it up, just like he did then."  
  
"What did he do?"  
  
"He beat me until I blacked out that day, then locked me up in my room for a week or so. My face had almost healed again when he came in one day telling me he had enrolled me in boarding school and I would be leaving next Monday. Can't say I was sorry to go."  
  
"And Jordan? Didn't he try to help you?"  
  
At the mention of his former teacher a flicker of emotion crossed Reed's face. He shrugged, his voice subdued as he spoke.  
  
"Maybe he did, I don't know. Wouldn't have gotten very far, though, I suppose. As I said, I was sent away for boarding school, and I never saw him again after that."  
  
Trip saw through Malcolm's facade of indifference and knew it had hurt him badly to be let down like that. Maybe Jordan had tried to help him after all, but it didn't matter. Reed had already learned his lesson then, and had been careful never to trust anyone again. Trip suddenly realized that he was probably the first person Malcolm had ever told about this. It's not a very interesting story, Reed had said, and Trip knew he'd meant it, too. Malcolm never talked much about himself. A bitter smile tugged at Tucker's lips. Probably just part of being an officer and gentleman, he thought, not to bother your friends with unsettling stories about your childhood.  
  
"Malcolm?" he asked, startling Reed out of his thoughts.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Did you ever talk to your parents after..."  
  
"After I joined Starfleet?" Reed shook his head. "No, I didn't. I wrote to Mom several times, but she never answered. Probably didn't get the letters, I don't know."  
  
"And your father?"  
  
"He wouldn't want to talk to me. The day I told him I wanted to go to the Starfleet Academy instead of joining the Royal Navy he told me to leave his house and never come back again.  
  
Said he wasn't going to waste his money on some cracked idea of mine, and I was going to screw up, anyway." Reed paused, staring down at his hands again. "Well, seems like he was right, after all."  
  
Trip felt a sudden anger well up in him. "You didn't screw up!"  
  
Reed looked up, his mouth a hard thin line. "Of course not. I gave our weapon technology to some aliens who'll probably start a war anytime soon, destroying an entire society, but I didn't screw up."  
  
Trip got up from the bed. "Malcolm, you didn't "give" it to them. You gotta stop doin' this to yourself, blamin' yourself for what happened. They probably won't be able to do much with the information anyway, since they haven't got the technology yet to construct phase canons, but even if they did; it wouldn't be your fault!"  
  
"Not my fault!" Reed jumped up as well, his face screwed up in anger. "I'm responsible for the security of this ship and her crew and I endangered all of you just because - "  
  
"Because what?" Trip noticed he had raised his voice as well, but couldn't help it. "Because they tortured you? Because they woulda killed you if you hadn't told them?"  
  
"Because I was weak!" Reed's voice sounded hoarse, and Trip noticed his hands were shaking. He chose his next words carefully; he'd never intended their conversation to turn into a shouting match, he only wanted Malcolm to stop blaming himself for what had happened.  
  
"You were anything but weak, Malcolm," he said, forcing himself to meet the Armoury Officer's glower. "Hell, you were down there for six *days*! I don't know what they... did to you, but I tell you, no matter what it was, I would have given up a lot sooner."  
  
Reed averted his eyes, the muscles in his jaw working. He was obviously fighting very hard to keep himself from shouting as he answered.  
  
"That's different. I'm responsible for Security, I'm supposed to be able to handle that kind of thing. And just because... that guy... you know, he had been at the interrogation all the time, watching as they.. beat me up and burned me with those rods... telling them what questions to ask, never saying a word to me... and then..."  
  
Trip stared at him closely. "And then?"  
  
"Then he suddenly... talked to me, asking me what I wanted, saying it was up to me... and I... I just couldn't take it anymore... I wanted them to stop, so I... I told him. Everything."  
  
The words came halted, and Reed's voice was full of anguish and shame. And suddenly Trip understood. It hadn't been the beating, or the other things they had done to him, which had broken Malcolm. When the interrogator had asked him what he wanted, offering him the chance to put an end to it, Reed had been back in Jordan's office, a frightened ten-year-old who desperately wanted to trust someone, anyone. Trip remembered Reed saying something about making the same mistake twice and suddenly realized what kind of mistake Malcolm had been talking about.  
  
"Malcolm," he said quietly, "you didn't do nothing wrong, neither now nor then. It was the right thing to do, giving them the information instead of getting killed, and it was the right thing to do, seekin' help when you were bein' abused. You weren't bein' weak."  
  
Reed closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I was. And it was no use, either..."  
  
"You were not! Think about it, Malcolm! Does it take a lot of courage for a grown man to beat up a ten-year-old boy? Your father was bein' weak himself, threatenin' you into silence instead of winning your respect. Tell me, did you ever really respect him?"  
  
Malcolm looked at him. "I was terribly afraid of him, but I... don't think I respected him, no. But still... I shouldn't have told Jordan just because he said he'd help me. It only made things worse."  
  
"Maybe not. At least you were able to get away from him. Boarding school may not have been a lot of fun, but he couldn't lay his hands on you there, could he?"  
  
Reed looked down again. He didn't say anything, but Trip could see he wasn't ready to forgive himself for "being weak". Trip shook his head.  
  
"Malcolm, do you think anyone here blames you for what happened? It could've happened to anyone of us, and anyone would have done the same thing! They would have killed you!"  
  
"Then I should have been killed." Reed's face was expressionless as he spoke, and Trip felt a sudden anger at the man's stubbornness.  
  
"The hell you should! Remember the time you tried to pull the same kind of stunt out there in the minefield, killing yourself in the line of duty? Since then you saved the lives of at least a hundred people just by doin' your job! What would've happened to them if you'd been killed? Ever thought about that?"  
  
Reed didn't answer and Trip noticed how weary he looked. His face was still very pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. Those ribs must hurt like hell, Trip thought, feeling guilty for lashing out at him like that.   
  
"Look, Malcolm, what I'm trying to say is that we need you. If you go and get yourself killed, who's going to pester the Cap'n about taking phasers on an away mission, or wake everyone up at the dead of night with another "Reed Alert"?"  
  
Malcolm looked up and there was the tiniest trace of a smile on his lips as he answered.   
  
"Thanks, Trip."   
  
Trip leaned on the doorframe, smiling. "You're welcome." He paused, watching as Malcolm sat down on the bed. "No offense, but you look like you're ready to hit the sack. I didn't want to tell you before, but the Cap'n talked to Phlox and he said it's ok for you to go back on light duties tomorrow."   
  
He saw Malcolm's face lighten up and rolled his eyes. "Talk about workaholics. It's *light duties*, don't forget, and if we catch you pullin' extra shifts you'll be confined to sickbay for another week. So don't even try, ok?"  
  
Reed's face fell. "I won't." Seeing Trip's eyebrows raised in disbelieve, he sighed. "Promise."  
  
Trip grinned. "Foiled again, huh? Well, you'd better get some sleep now, or Jon will have my head for keepin' you up that long."  
  
He turned to the door, ready to leave, but stopped in his tracks as he heard Reed's voice behind him.  
  
"Trip."  
  
He looked back.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Trip felt a little embarassed at the gratitude he heard in Malcolm's voice. He wasn't used to that kind of thing coming from the quiet and formal Armoury Officer who always made a point of doing everything by the book, trying to maintain protocol in all situations. But looking at Reed he saw Malcolm was being serious. Trip smiled at him.  
  
"You're welcome, my friend."  
  
He pushed a button and the door opened. Before he left, Trip turned back to Reed one more time.  
  
"Sleep well, Lieutenant."  
  
Reed lay down on his bed. He was so tired his eyes started burning, and his ribs were aching terribly, but he didn't really notice. He felt strange. In the beginning he'd just talked to Trip so the Commander would finally go and leave him alone, and he had ended up telling him more than he had ever told anyone before. But somehow, he didn't feel as bad about it as he would have thought. For the first time in days he was able simply to rest; the weight on his soul had somehow been lessened. Maybe tonight there would be no nightmares.  
  
He turned over, wincing a little as a dull pain stabbed through his ribs. It was time that cast came off, it was more annoying than anything else. Reed lay still for a while, listening to the subdued humming of the warp engines and the sound of voices talking in the distance. His eyes were already beginning to droop, when he suddenly thought of Madeline. It was more than seven years ago when he had last spoken to her. They'd been writing letters when he'd still been at the Academy, but after that they'd somehow lost touch.He didn't even know what she was doing at the moment.   
  
Suddenly Malcolm didn't feel tired anymore. He'd done enough resting in the last few days, it wouldn't hurt to stay up for another half an hour. He pushed back the covers and walked over to his desk, switching on the screen. Sitting down on his chair, he stared at the blank screen for a moment, then began to write.  
  
The End 


End file.
